


Bedside Manner

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The text says urgent. Terrified Oikawa has done something serious to his knee, Hajime hurries over to  investigate. But when he gets there, Oikawa declares his knee is fine, but he is at death's door with bird, or swine or possibly cow-flu. He needs someone to take care of him, and sadly only Hajime is around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedside Manner

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been inspired by a couple of twitter conversations with Viria. Heidi (TripsH)'s support has also helped. :)  
> This was supposed to be about 1k, but spiralled - Sorry.

The message had said urgent. More specifically it had said ‘VERY urgent’ and then a ‘please’ had been added. Hajime studied his phone again.

_‘Iwa-chan. I must see you. VERY urgent. Please come over.’_

He gulped and hurriedly pulling on his jeans, helping himself to one slice of toast, Hajime ran out of the apartment, down the stairs (because the lifts weren’t working again) and legged it from the tower block.

_I should have stopped him practising so hard. I should have forced him to go home. Gods, if he’s bust his knee again..._

He tried to block the thoughts, tried to concentrate instead on getting to Oikawa. But it was hard because the last time, when all it had been was a light sprain, Oikawa had been _so_ low, thinking it was worse than it was that Hajime had wondered if he’d ever recover. Volleyball was Oikawa’s life. It was why he went to such great lengths to improve. It was why everyone was kept at arms length. It was -

‘ _Where are you?’_ Even his text looked plaintive.

_‘On my way. Don’t move.’_

_‘I can’t move. Everything hurts.’_

_‘Where’s your mum?’_

_‘Abroad. Hurry.’_

Redoubling his efforts, and deciding the bus would take too long, Hajime sped towards the Oikawa house. It was in a nicer part of town than his apartment. A leafy area, with a front and back garden rather than window boxes, and a gate that creaked when it swung open.

He ran up the path, and then ducked down the side of the house. Oikawa’s window was open, so he wouldn’t have to get up to answer the front door.  It was the way Hajime usually got in if visiting after hours. It wasn’t that Oikawa’s parents disapproved of him (they actually liked Hajime, he knew that) but they did have this idea that their son took himself off to his room to sleep at ten every night, and wasn’t up watching DVDs, listening to music or annoying Hajime by texting him through the night.

“Oikawa. Oikawa-chan, are you okay?” he said, panting as he heaved himself through the window.

Oikawa was lying in his bed. As he tilted his head towards the windowsill, Hajime saw a pale face, eyes that were red, and hair mussed so unbecomingly that Hajime feared the worst.

“What’s happened!” he exclaimed. “Is it your knee? Hell, we must get you a doctor. The hospital. Do your parents know? Can they get back? We need to get you ... No, NO!” he shouted, worried beyond belief because Oikawa was trying to lever himself into sitting position. “Stop it, Tooru! You’ve got to keep still. There’s a chance things will be fine, but you mustn’t move your knee-“

“By knee?” Oikawa replied, sounding puzzled and also very congested. “Iwa-chan, what _are_ you going on about? It’s not by knee. I’b dying.”

“What?”

“I’ve got a fever and can’t stop sneezing. By nose is streabing and by eyes are sore. You’ve got to help be. It’s hopeless.”

“It’s not your knee?” Relief waved through him, but it was relief cut short by a surge of irritation.

“No, by knee is fine. I keep telling you that,” Oikawa snapped.

“You dragged me here.  Before breakfast. Because you have a cold.”

“No, no, that would be ridiculous,” Oikawa said, and reached for a handkerchief, stifling a sneeze. “This isn’t a _cold_. It’s flu. And not norbal flu, Iwa-chan. I think it’s bird or swine flu. Bight even be cow-flu. I don’t think I’ve got long to live.”

 _Cow flu- what the fuck?!_ Ignoring the diva act, Hajime glared at him. Then he softened his frown. Oikawa didn’t look great, he had to admit. Maybe it was flu, especially if he had a temperature.

“Okay,” he said, making a decision. “As I’m here now, can I get you anything?”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, you’re wonderful. I knew I could count on you.” Oikawa flopped back on the pillow. “I don’t want much. Just sobe juice.”

“Juice, got it.”

“Orange.”

“Orange, ‘course. In the fridge?”

Oikawa pulled a pained expression. “Freshly squeezed. That stuff in the carton loses all its vitabin C, which won’t be good for be at all.”

“Freshly squeezed. Fine. You do have oranges, I take it?”

“I think so,” Oikawa replied slowly. “But the superbarket in the next street will have somb. Bind you, it bight be better going to the barket. They’re fresh there.”

“The market?” Hajime’s scowl deepened. “You mean the open-air market twenty minutes away.”

“Well, I can’t go,” Oikawa said tetchily. “I can’t bove frob this bed. I’b probably really infectious.”

“But you don’t mind me catching whatever it is you’ve got,” Hajime muttered.

“You’re so tough, Iwa-chan. You never get anything.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “I’m _not_ going to the market,” he said firmly. “I will look in the kitchen and see if you have oranges. If you have oranges, then I will squeeze them for you. If you don’t, then ... sorry, but you’ll have to _risk_ the carton.”

Oikawa nodded pitifully. “I’b a nuisance, I know. And I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

 _No more than you usually are,_ Hajime thought as he left the room.

The Oikawas’ kitchen was a modern one. His mum liked everything to look right, and had spent an age talking to a designer about the exact look she wanted. Hajime wasn’t sure why because as far as he could make out, she spent very little time in the kitchen. Oikawa told him that his parents often gave dinner parties, but they’d hire caterers.  There was a part time housekeeper who’d stock up the fridge with delicious meals, and breakfast was something his parents would grab on the way to work.

She did shop, however. Or rather, she’d tap an order into the computer and wait for it to be delivered. And fortunately for Hajime, there were plenty of oranges in the fruit bowl.

(Not that he’d have walked to the market. He’d made that very clear to Oikawa ... hadn’t he?)

They also had a juicer on display. It was large, shiny, and obviously not used that much. He stared at it, wondered if he dared have a go, then decided against and rummaged through the drawer to find a squeezer.

 

“Oh...” Oikawa pouted. “Is that it?”

Hajime deliberately kept his expression neutral and placed the glass of juice on his bedside table. “There were six oranges. I used them all,” he said. “Right, if that’s everything -”

“B-but I want you to stay. I need you to stay, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa sneezed, dabbed the handkerchief to his nose and languished back on his pillows. “I feel so ill. It’s not fair.”

“I have homework,” he protested. “And practise later. I get that you can’t go, Oikawa, but I should be there.”

“You could do your hobework here,” Oikawa replied, his voice wobbling. “I won’t disturb you ... I probise.”

Despite knowing that Oikawa would be unable to keep his promise, that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from disturbing him, Hajime was tempted. Oikawa had a new computer, a laptop and an iPad.  In the apartment, Hajime shared a sticky keyboarded PC with his younger brothers because his laptop was broken. (Broken was a euphemism, he’d sort of thrown it against the wall after Oikawa had hacked into his facebook page and filled it with selfies.)

Maybe he could put up with Oikawa. If he was as ill as he said he was, then he’d probably sleep for most of the day.

And he didn’t look well.

“I’ll stay,” he said, then worried by the gleam in Oikawa’s reddened eyes added hurriedly, “But if you start pissing me off, I’ll throw that juice over you and shove that glass somewhere very unpretty. Got that!”

Oikawa started to moan. “I can’t believe you’d threaten be when I’b clearly suffering.”

“Okay, okay, you lie back and try to sleep,” Hajime said through gritted teeth. He was starting to regret ever coming round, but if he could get Oikawa to sleep, then maybe he could make headway on his homework. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Baybe later,” Oikawa snuffled. “Iwa-chan... if it’s not too buch trouble...”

“Mmm, what?”

“Could you pass by iPad? I’ll listen to busic so I don’t disturb you. Bight get be off to sleep.”

Wordlessly refusing to show the slightest irritation, Hajime crossed the room, picked up the iPad that was on Oikawa’s bedside cabinet, and handed it to him.

“Headphones?”

“Plugged in,” he replied, lifting the earbuds up with his fingers.

“No, they hurt by ears. Can you find the other ones?”

After a fifteen-minute search, because Oikawa was positive his nephew had been using the headphones downstairs but Hajime found them plugged into Oikawa’s television. (‘Oh yes, I was watching sobething last night. Don’t look at be like that, Iwa-chan. By head is fuzzy. I forgot.’)   He ripped them out, handed them to Oikawa, fixed him with a furious glare, and then stalked across to the desk.

For once Oikawa didn’t protest, or try to have the last word. Obviously realising that Hajime was serious about his homework, he didn’t even murmur a snide comment under his breath, but sighed dramatically and sank back into his pillows. Hajime heard the ‘tin tin’ of Oikawa’s music, not quite muffled by the headphones, but didn’t argue. He powered on Oikawa’s laptop, went into the school homework website, and started on his maths.  

It was easy here, much easier than trying to work at home, and he sped through the first two pages of quadratic equations. Pausing before he started on the last page, he cast a glance at Oikawa. His eyes were closed, but his head was nodding along to whatever music he was listening too (Euro Pop or something – not Hajime’s taste at all.)

“Oikawa,” he muttered.

“Oikawa,” he said louder.

“Hmm?” Oikawa opened his eyes.

“I was going to make a cup of coffee. Shall I make you one?”

“Tea,” Oikawa said feebly. “Cabobile.”

“Camomile,” he deciphered.  “Got it.” He stood up.

“With a spoonful of honey.”

“Honey.”

“For by throat.” Oikawa coughed a little.

“Uh huh, good idea.” His hand was on the door handle.

“Oh and lebon please.”

“What?”

“Lebon! A slice of lebon on the saucer. I can squeeze it in byself.”

“Right. You do have lemons, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. But there’s always the barket. They sell those unwaxed ones, which are buch better than-”

“I am _not_ walking to the outdoor market!”

“I could do without, I suppose. You’re being very patient with be.” Oikawa said, and smiled sweetly. “I know that bust be such a strain.”

“I COULD JUST LEAVE!” spat Hajime, turning swiftly on his foot to face Oikawa.

_Snap!_

“What the fuck?”

“Sbile, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replied, holding up the iPad.  Then he shuddered. “On second thoughts, no.”

“Why are you taking photographs?”

“Twitter,” Oikawa replied. He pushed his lips out in a pout then clicked to camera. “No, that’s not good. I look awful.”

“You’re ill, what do you expect? And why are you putting photos on twitter?”

Oikawa wriggled up the bed, lolled his head onto his shoulder and tried a smile. The he frowned. “By nose is too red. You take it.”

Hajime folded his arms across his chest. “I repeat. Why are you putting photos on Twitter?”

“I have to update by fans, Iwa-chan. They’re worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I told them I was ill, of course,” Oikawa stated, very slowly as if speaking to a small child. “I should let them know I’b infectious, or they’ll turn up with brownies.”

Shaking his head, Hajime left the room. Oikawa’s fans didn’t interest him until they got in the way of volleyball. If Oikawa chatting to them, tweeting (or whatever it was called) kept him out of Hajime’s hair so he could finish homework and make practise on time, then he wasn’t going to get angry. Oikawa’s vanity irritated him (immensely) but it had its uses.

Like now, for instance, because Oikawa would be so caught up with sending the right messages, that he’d forget Hajime was here and wouldn’t badger him to fetch and carry or talk.

 _I really am a git!_ he thought. _Oikawa-san is actually ill this time and I’m taking the piss._    He peered into the cupboards, finding coffee, camomile tea and honey. But no lemon.

_I could go out to the store. Not the market, but the store will have lemons, and ... I am in his house, using his Wi-Fi._

“Iwa-chan, what’s taking so long?”

“I was going to get you a lemon,” he called out.

“No, don’t bother. Camomile and honey will be fine, I’m sure,” he croaked.

_Fucking martyr!_

Oikawa started to cough. For a brief moment, Hajime wondered if he was putting it on, but then he started to hack, the sound echoing to him in the kitchen.

“Oikawa?”

“By throat is sooo sore, Iwa-chan? Perhaps you should call the doctor. Or an abulance.”

“It’s a cold, Oikawa. Go to sleep!”

“Bring the therbobeter. I have a fever.”

The kettle clicked, steam rising into the kitchen, clouding up the windows. Hajime reached across, placing his finger on the pane. ‘Oikawa Tooru is a pain in the arse’ he wrote, then watched as the condensation dripped and the kanji took on odd, distorted forms.

“Camomile tea with honey,” he said five minutes later as he placed the mug by Oikawa’s side. “Thermometer. Open up.”

“Not now. By throat’s too painful.”

“I could shove it up your arse if you want,” Hajime muttered, but he turned away so Oikawa didn’t hear him.  “I’m going to finish this maths.”

Oikawa coughed. He held out the iPad. “Could you take this picture first?”

“Huh?”

“If you angle it right, then baybe my nose won’t look so red.”

“No angle in the world is going to stop that belisha beacon, Oikawa,” Hajime replied, and started to laugh. “Shall I get you a mask?”  


“RUDE!” He coughed again and groaned. Then, a thought occurred to him. Hajime could see it flicker across Oikawa’s face, his expression assuming one of satisfaction. “Iwa-chan ...”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet.”

“Something I won’t like, I know that.”

“It’s not much,” he replied, wanly. “And it would make me much happier. I could sleep well knowing I have a better photograph on twitter and my fans aren’t too worried.”

“How very caring of you,” Hajime said.

Oikawa ignored the sarcasm, levered himself up, and started to sip his tea. “If you go into the bathroob, then you’ll find ...” He stopped talking and pressed his lips together. “Actually, go into by parents’ ensuite-”

“What? Oikawa, I am NOT going anywhere near your parents’ bedroom. Stop this now.”

“I just need my bother’s concealer,” Oikawa said. “ I’ve seen her using it lots of times. It’s a tiny tube, which she keeps in her bake-up bag.”

“No.”

“That’s by the washbasin. Really, Iwa-chan, you’ll be in and out of there very quickly, and I don’t know why on earth you’re so ebarrassed about going into the bathroob. It’s not like I’b asking you to look through her knickers.”

Horrified, Hajime blushed. “It’s her bathroom! I’m a guest here,” he protested.

“Pfft!” Oikawa waved a hand at him. “How long have we been friends? You’re practically fabily.”

Hajime glowered. “Friends is stretching it.”

“Good friends,” Oikawa insisted, and smiled. “Best friends, Iwa-chan. Don’t you remember all those times when your pocket-boney had been stopped  and I bought you ice-creab, and crisps, _and_ cineba tickets.”

“All right, All right!” Hajime stormed and headed for the door.

The trouble was Oikawa was right. They were friends, even if Oikawa had the capacity to irritate the balls off him with the slightest comment, or gesture. There wasn’t anyone else he reacted to with quite so much dumb fury and frustration – and that included his twin brothers. And when he wasn’t being annoying, or pushing his luck like he was doing right now, Oikawa also had the capacity to make Hajime laugh more than anyone else in his life. He was a generous friend, the shared pocket money had been more because Hajime’s parents couldn’t afford everything, but Oikawa didn’t shove that in his face. He didn’t play the rich card. He never had.

“What is this place?” he whispered as he stepped into Oikawas parents’ bedroom.

It was large. It was probably the size of Hajime’s, his parents and his brothers’ bedrooms combined. And that was without factoring in the ensuite. It was designed in more of a European way than Oikawa’s room (his parents had lived abroad for a few years) with a four-poster bed, sumptuous maroon hangings and a silk coverlet.

And the pillows.

Hajime stared at them, wondering why anyone needed so many things on their bed. Maybe that’s all the housekeeper did, plump pillows and change the cases. He had a mattress on the floor. It suited him. This was like living in a hotel. He stepped closer, wondering if there were chocolates on the pillows, then snorted and headed for the bathroom.

“What’s taking you so long? By fans are already concerned.”

“Uh ...” He found the bag, rifled through the contents ( _Wow, how much face cream does his mum need?_ ) and then with a triumphant cry found the right tube. “Got it.”

“Ah, good.” Oikawa said when he returned. He was arranging himself on his bed, running his fingers through his hair, not to straighten it, Hajime thought, but to muss it up even further. “If you could apply –”

“Go bollocks!”

“Iwa-chan!”

“I am not. I repeat NOT putting makeup on you, Assikawa!”

“I can’t do it. I have no birror.”

“You have about twenty in this room alone. Just get up and walk over to one of them.”

“But I’b weak.”

“Tough. I am not going anywhere near your snotty nose, unless I punch it. Got that! Anyway, if you’re so weak, how come you can take photos and start posting them all over the internet?”

“Ugh, you are so tetchy today,” Oikawa complained. He leant across his bed and pulled out a small hand mirror from a box by the side. “Will you at least hold this?”

“You have a fucking weird definition of not disturbing me!”

“I won’t be long. And after I’ve sent the tweet, I’ll sleep and you can finish all your hobework. Then, baybe, I’ll feel better and we can watch a DVD.” He sneezed. “I have the new X-Ben bovie.”

“Wow. I didn’t think that had been released yet!”

Oikawa smiled. ‘By father sent if frob Aberica. I know you like those filbs.”

Grabbing the mirror, Hajime sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Oikawa applied dots of the make-up on and under his nose.  Close-up, he was starting to look better than he had when Hajime first arrived. The redness of his eyes was fading and there was a little bit of colour in his cheeks.

“Ugh, this colour is a little too pale for by skin tone,” Oikawa complained. “But it will have to do. I could always touch it up before I post, I guess.” He handed Hajime the iPad. “Take it for be, will you?”

A request and not a demand. Maybe Oikawa was sicker than he looked. He nestled onto his pillow, made the peace sign with his right hand, and smiled wanly at the camera.

“Take a few more. Your hand was shaking, so that one’s bound to be blurry.”

“It was NOT shaking!”

“Now, now, Iwa-chan, don’t be so defensive.”

“Why would my hand shake when I take a picture of you? Unless it’s with rage!” retorted Hajime, and he threw the iPad down onto the bed. “I’ve done what you asked, now leave me alone to finish this sodding homework.”

Oikawa made a noise that sounded like a ‘harrumph’. It was the sound he made when he was torn between amused and annoyed, but Hajime didn’t bother finding out which one it was. Resuming his seat at the desk, he opened up the final page of maths equations. The new X-Men movie had better be worth the headache now starting to thrum between his eyes.

“Oh!”

Hajime ignored him.

“That bight be a better idea.”

Question seventeen was a doozie. He tapped out the answer in record time, leaving three more to –

“You’re right, Iwa-chan.”

“Go away.”

“But you’re right.”

_Ignore him. Ignore him. Finish these questions and leave._

 “Don’t you want to know what about?”

“No. Don’t care.”

“But you’re so rarely right, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said slyly. “Isn’t it exciting that I’b actually agreeing with you for once.”

He cracked. “What am I right about?” he asked, swinging round on the chair.

Oikawa was sat up in the bed, his arms stretched above his head. “I _ab_ too ill to post on twitter. I don’t want to be bothered by girls outside the house, not when I need to sleep.”

“Fine, then don’t post.”

“But they will be worried,” Oikawa made a show of chewing his lip, looking indecisive. Hajime knew it was an act, and a calculated one too because Oikawa was seldom nervous – about anything.

“Then post it.”

“I have a better idea,” Oikawa said. “You bust post it for me.”

Hajime snorted and turned back to his homework. “Like I have a twitter account. I barely go on facebook these days.”

“It won’t take long. Just post this picture and caption it saying I’b okay but feeling weak.”

“What part of ‘I don’t have Twitter’ did you not understand, dumbass?” Hajime demanded. He stared at Oikawa. “I am not making a twitter account. It’s stupid. Why would I want to read the pointless ramblings of someone as dumb as you, when you text me every bloody minute of the day?”

Oikawa was staring at him oddly. There was a smile on his lips, matching the one in his eyes. A beatific, innocent smile. The smile of someone who’d in all probability done something very annoying, just because he could.

“I _have_ a twitter account, don’t I,” Hajime stated wearily, wondering why he wasn’t surprised. Of _course_ he had a twitter account. And probably a tumblr, and a 4chan, and who the hell knew what other blogs Oikawa had set up in his name.

“It was necessary,” Oikawa said smoothly, not seeming the least afraid.

“Necessary!”

“My followers are a little shy at times, so they’ll ask you things instead. Some of the requests are a little ... hmmm ... unseemly, so it’s good that you can deal with them, while I remain unaware.”

“UNSEEMLY! What the fuck are you running here, Oikawa, some kind of porn account?”

“Ah, you’re such an innocent, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased. He wriggled forwards. “Your twitter is set up on the laptop. Log on to that, and then tweet this picture. Say I’b expected to bake a full recovery but need absolute quiet for a while.”

“And that’s it. No in-depth detail about your freshly squeezed orange juice or the camomile tea with honey but no lemon?” Hajime snapped. “Maybe I should tell your deluded fans that you need one of them to run to the market and pick up supplies. Or that this variant of fucking _cow_ -flu is so dangerous you’re sprouting udders!”

Oikawa sighed. “Don’t be silly,” he said coolly. “A tweet can only be one-hundred and forty characters. You can post those details later, if you wish.”

“Later. I’m not doing this now!” he protested. But Oikawa was staring at him, his large brown eyes even wider than normal, and even though he tried to look away, Hajime wilted under the intensity of his gaze. “Fine. This one tweet and then that’s all.”

He clicked onto the icon. ‘His’ account popped up (the profile picture was a particularly horrible one where he’d been laughing at something Kindaichi had said and blinked at the wrong time) and he scowled. _’Iwa-chan @ OikawasVice,’_ he read. “Oi, I’m Seijou’s Vice, not yours! And why couldn’t you have given me a cool name, you arsehole?”

“You can change it,” Oikawa said, sniffing. “But by fans know you as Iwa-chan, it will confuse them if you put Hajibe.”

Taking a deep breath, Hajime inserted the photo and typed, ‘Oikawa making progress. Needs to stay quiet.’

“You should type some kisses but tell them they’re from me.”

“Yeah, they’ll really appreciate your snot -ridden lips,” Hajime said.  His lips twitched as he scrolled down the screen. There were a lot of fans following his account. Fans that appeared to be persistant. _Idiot, it’s not my account!_  he thought, but he was curious.

“There’s a picture here with a lot of favourites and retweets,” he called out.

“They often do,” Oikawa said, not sounding that interested. “There’s one on here that has three hundred retweets. It was taken when I was serving.”

“This one has five-hundred and twenty-nine retweets, and ... wow ... one thousand and twenty favourites.”

“Really?”

Clearly forgetting he was ill, Oikawa swung his legs off the bed, threw down his iPad and leapt across the room. “I bust have bissed that one. Was it frob the Karasuno game? There was a lot of interest then. You were very busy answering by tweets after that batch, Iwa-chan.”

“Uh ...” Hajime bit his lip, trying to stop the smile appearing on his face as he clicked to enlarge the photograph. “It’s _after_ the Karasuno match. In the changing rooms at the end of the day.”

“What, I don’t - Oh ...”

He slapped Hajime’s hand away from the keyboard and examined the photograph. “Kindaichi-kun took this,” he said in a small, narrow kind of voice. “I gave hib the cabera.”

“Mmm, we were celebrating,” Hajime mused in a light airy tone he knew would enrage Oikawa. “Actually, wasn’t I really pissed off because you told him to take the pic just after I’d stepped out of the shower?” He glanced sideways at Oikawa’s sullen face. “Yeah, look, I’m only wearing a towel.”

“And you’re scowling. I bet that’s why this is so popular. They like laughing at your angry face.”

Hajime smirked. His fingers slipped across the keyboard and to the mouse. He clicked on the stream of conversation.

_‘Oooh, so cool!’_

_‘Look at those eyes. So intense.’_

_‘Yes, that’s really what I’m looking at – lol’_

_‘Sex on legs – Wow!’_

_‘hnnnnggggggggg!!!!’_

_‘Look at those abs!’_

_“WOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!’_

_‘When did you get so hot, Hajime?’_

_‘You should dress like that on court, Haj-senpai!!!!’_

_‘Hotter than Oikawa-san.’_

_‘IKR.’_

_‘Why did Oikawa have to get in the way????’_

“That’s enough!” Oikawa shrieked and slammed the lid down on the laptop. “Bakki-chan must have been bessing around again. He and Batsu have the most ridiculous ideas sometimes.”

Hajime started to laugh. He didn’t want to, but there was something so petty about Oikawa’s face, the way his lips had thinned, and his eyebrows had creased into a frown when he’d seen the picture, which was better than any number of insults Hajime could hurl his way.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing!”

“Your face,” Hajime wheezed, and pulled out his phone. “I so need a picture of this!”

“STOP IT!” Oikawa yelled. He snatched the phone from Hajime’s hand and flung it across the room.

“HA HAHAHAHAHA! This is fucking hilarious! You can’t take the fact that one picture of me might just be more popular than-”

 “It’s a stupid picture! Very debeaning to you,” Oikawa snarled. “I’b going to delete it!” He sneezed suddenly, not even bothering to cover his face with a handkerchief.

“UGH! YOU TOSSER!” yelled Hajime, who’d luckily dodged to avoid the full force of Oikawa’s snot and spit. “Go and wash your hands, and then blow your nose, for fuck’s sake!”

“BY NOSE IS SORE!” Oikawa shouted, his voice miraculously uncroaky. “YOU’RE A HORRIBLE NURSE, IWA-CHAN. _HORRIBLE!_ ”

“Your throat’s a lot better then,” Hajime said innocently, unable to keep his face straight because Oikawa’s fury was so fricking funny to watch.

“No. I’ve probably damaged my vocal chords for life!” Moodily, he kicked the desk leg, refusing to look at Hajime. “I feel awful, Iwa-chan, and you don’t seem to care at all.”

Sighing, Hajime ruffled Oikawa’s hair. “Go and have a shower. You’ll feel better after that. I’ll go to the supermarket and buy us something for lunch.”

“Milk pan?”

Gods, it was like babysitting a very young child. “Yes, I’ll buy milk pan. But you need something nutritious as well. Okay?”

Jutting out his bottom lip, Oikawa lifted his downcast face and gazed at him. “You’re a good friend, Iwa-Chan, and if you’re ever ill, I’ll cobe round and take good care of you, I probise.”

 _Bet you won’t._ “Yeah, sure. I know that.”

***

“Hajime-chan, I have to go and pick up your brothers from school and take them to Little Tykes,” his mum called. “Will you be all right by yourself for a while?”

Hajime lifted his head from his pillow. He felt fuzzy, his eyes were sore, and his throat was starting to take on a husky, rasping tone. “Yeah, I’b fine. I’ll get sobe bore sleep.”

He heard her go, or at least he thought he did. Their front door closed, but then he heard the latch again. She’d probably forgotten her handbag again, he decided, and closed his eyes intent on sleeping.

His door creaked open. “Iwa-chaaaaan.”

_Huh?_

“Iwa-chan, it’s me. I’ve come to take care of you.”

He opened one eye and groaned. Standing over him, looking disgustingly healthy, was Oikawa.

“Go away,” he croaked and turned over. “I don’t want you here.”

He heard a deep, exaggerated sigh and felt a cool hand on his brow. “Delirious,” Oikawa murmured. “Well, don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I’ve brought supplies. Oranges, lemons, camomile tea, miso soup in a flask, milk pan and ...”

“Oikawa, go away,” he groaned.

“No, I’m here to look after you. Aren’t you at all pleased to see me?”

“I’b ill!” Hajime moaned as he turned back to face him. “Just let be sleep.”

_Snap!_

“What the fuck, Oikawa. Get your phone out of by face!!”

Oikawa smiled, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Iwa-chan, your followers are worried, so  I must give them regular updates ...”

 


End file.
